


don’t fear the reaper

by Ford_Ye_Fiji



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - just here to change canon for the Angst, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Based on a text post, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I’m just in the mood for pain apparently, Suffering, thats all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-19 01:46:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19347052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ford_Ye_Fiji/pseuds/Ford_Ye_Fiji
Summary: Crowley thinks Aziraphale is dead after the shop burned down.But instead of Aziraphale being discorporated, perhaps he managed to avoid the heavenly portal and went looking for Crowley himself....





	1. The weeping angel

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to honor the show's tradition of making Doctor Who references XD

Aziraphale closed the door firmly on the rather lumpy nose of the protesting Mr. Shadwell. He sighed and leaned against it, rubbing his forehead with exasperation. He glanced at the glowing portal to heaven apprehensively. He really needed to warn Crowley and tell him about the book.... If he hadn’t already left for Alpha Centauri that is. But if Aziraphale left now, heaven would be very displeased with him. They were expecting him to arrive at any moment. 

Aziraphale shook himself. 

He had already wasted far too much time guiding Mr. Shadwell out of his shop and explaining that blasted portal away. Whatever happened, whatever heaven did, he _had_ to  warn Crowley, never mind that he was abandoning everything else.

Aziraphale rolled his eyes heavenward and, grabbing The Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter, Witch, bolted out of the bookshop. The door closed with a blustery slam. 

One of the candles teetered rather precariously on its stand before tipping over and landing on its side with a small thump. The flame sputtered wearily. The candle slowly rolled across the slightly slanted wooden floor. The floor was slanted because the bookshop was indeed built on a very _very_ small hill. A hill that was utterly insignificant in the history of the world, a hill that didn’t really deserve to be called a hill. This was probably the single most important event that had ever happened on it or because of it. 

The candle rolled to a stop, sputtering against a stack of books on the floor. 

The paper caught fire, the book lighting up, then another, and another, the eager flames devouring the angel's precious books quickly. 

The shop was on fire, but Aziraphale was already long gone.

* * *

Aziraphale knocked quickly on the door. He huffed when there was no answer. He knocked again. At the continued silence he glanced around and sighed. Oh well, heaven probably wouldn’t notice a little miracle right now anyway. With a slight pop he was transported into Crowley's office. The angel frowned, calling hesitantly, "Crowley?" 

Surely he hadn’t left already, had he?

"Crowley! I know you’re still mad at me, but I’ve found out where the anti-christ is!" He swallowed, "Crowley, dear?"

The air stank of sulfur. 

Sulfur didn’t particularly bother him, after all, it was a sign that a demon had been around and, well, he’d had Crowley around for a long time. He’d just about given up on being able to mask that awful smell with anything other than a deep clean, which was much too arduous a task since Crowley stopped by so often. He couldn’t even miracle it away anymore considering that heaven was getting irritated that he was always running over his quota. So, he’d just learned to deal with it. 

This, however, seemed different. It seemed far more burnt and far more pungent than it usually was.

Aziraphale frowned and took a step towards the door, sending a plant mister skittering across the floor. Aziraphale peered at it with confusion and then paused, mouth opening with surprise as he caught sight of the puddle on the floor. 

The puddle was steaming slightly, a mixture of black goop and glistening water. Aziraphale's breath caught in his throat. 

_No._

He crouched down and, with trembling fingers, touched the unidentified puddle.  His eyes widened, lips trembling, mouth parted. It was holy water, and there was no mistaking the other liquid. It reeked of demonic essence.

Aziraphale fell back, staring at the puddle unbelievingly. 

Holy water. Demonic remains. A discarded plant mister. An empty apartment. 

He covered his mouth. 

_Crowley._

Crowley was- 

The smell of sulfur hung thick and heavy in the room.

He was- 

Oh. 

Aziraphale choked, eyes itching peculiarly. 

Crowley was dead. 

He’d killed himself. 

He’d killed himself with the holy water Aziraphale had been stupid enough to give him. 

Something was spilling down his cheeks.

_Crowley was dead._

He buried his head in his hands, pressing his palms against his eyes, openly sobbing now. _Crowley_ was _ dead .  _

He was dead and it was his fault. 

If he had just come sooner...!

Aziraphale folded inwards on himself, as he wept, mourning for his best friend. 


	2. Devil may cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A different POV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stupidly short again, sorry. I’ll try to make up for it in the last chapter

Crowley stumbled out of the burning bookshop, nearly tripping over his own long legs. He’d lost his sunglasses at some point, but no one seemed to notice his reptilian eyes in the commotion. He still couldn’t bring himself to care. He had other, far more important things to worry about.

He didn’t have anything, not even a book, not even one remnant of his friend. His ears were ringing insistently, sparks and half burnt paper fluttering from the sky and the burning spectacle behind him. 

Aziraphale was dead. Gone. Burnt alive, probably.

Crowley collapsed onto the Bentley's supple leather seats. 

Aziraphale was dead. 

It seemed so final. 

_Aziraphale_ was  dead . 

Had he suffered much? How long had it taken? Perhaps it had been heaven who’d done it. Heaven didn’t set bookshops on fire, though. It had to have been his people. It was their style, their exact flavor of delicious sickening irony. Burning an angel alive. 

Crowley snarled and wrenched the Bentley out of park. 

Aziraphale was dead. 

Aziraphale was the ashes on his tongue, the soot on his face, the dust ground into the soles of his shoes. Crowley breathed in sharply, stomach turning. He needed a drink. His foot pressed down onto the gas and the car peeled off into the streets of London. Aziraphale wasn’t there to complain about his driving. That thought stung, it wrenched and cracked deep inside him. Crowley couldn’t seem to see the road, it was blurring strangely in front of him. 

Aziraphale was dead and he was never coming back. He would never go to France during the revolution dressed as an aristocrat of all things, he would never wear such horribly ridiculous coats, or whine about him touching his books or- or berate him for abusing his plants so. No more dinners and lunches, no more little miracles or quips or conversations or perturbed yet fond glances. 

Crowley wiped at his disobedient eyes furiously and pressed the gas pedal to the floor. 

No more complaining about his taste in music or petty heavenly annoyances or companionable meals at the Ritz or how crêpes were worth dying for. 

Crowley sniffed. 

_Aziraphale was dead._


	3. hope is the thing with feathers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading! ^^

Aziraphale sat on a bench in Saint James Park. The trees provided a pleasant canopy against the sun, leaves fluttering in the gentle breeze, shadows dancing along the pathway and the glimmering water before him. The ducks quacked softly. Humans crossed the path without a glance for the man with the tear stained cheeks on the bench.

Aziraphale stared at the ducks hollowly, or through them rather, hands loosely clasped in front of him. 

The world was going to end very soon and he couldn’t seem to care. Crowley was dead. The end of the world didn’t seem so important now, really. 

And the last thing he’d told him had been... had been very harsh.He should never have given him that holy water. If he hadn’t, would he still be alive, now? With his silly sunglasses and horrendous bebop and beloved old death trap of a car? 

Aziraphale broke down, again, shoulders shaking as he grieved for his best friend. 

It was the sound of some sort of soft crying that gave him pause. 

There wasn’t anyone around him, however. Aziraphale frowned, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand, listening. 

There it was again. Aziraphale called out, feeling very foolish, "Hello?" 

The sound stopped. 

And then, and it couldn’t possibly be who he thought it was, "...Aziraphale?"

The angel stood immediately, "Crowley? Crowley, dear, is that you?"

The sound had come from behind him. He whipped around, eyes wide and found Crowley standing in front of him, gobsmacked and clutching a bottle of alcohol to his disheveled front. His pants legs were stained with mud from where he’d been sitting, completely hidden from view behind a wide ancient oak.

The demon looked a mess, glasses crooked, hair wild, face wet, and covered from head to toe in soot. 

Aziraphale gaped, quivering, " Crowley? "

Crowley stared and mouthed disbelievingly, " _Aziraphale?_ "

Aziraphale stood and cautiously, carefully, walked around the bench up to the demon, reached out a hand, and poked the equally dumbfounded demon in the shoulder. The angel's lips trembled before he smacked him harder, "You- _you!_ You utterly ridiculous-! How could you do that-?!” Another smack. 

Crowley stuttered but Aziraphale held up an accusing finger that stopped him just as he spoke, "Don’t you- don’t you start with me! You- you! Where  _were_   you?!” 

Crowley sputtered, "Where was  _I?_   Where were  _you?!_ " 

Aziraphale snapped, the pitch of his voice rising as he swatted him again, "Don’t turn this back on me! There- there was a puddle of holy water and melted- melted demon on the floor of your flat!" He choked on a sob, "I- I thought you were-!”

Crowley was still staring at him as if he was the strangest most absolutely wonderful thing he’d ever seen. Aziraphale stamped a foot, not caring that he was really crying at this point, "Crowley you’re such- such poppycock-!” 

Crowley's face crumpled and he yanked Aziraphale into a tight hug, "You- you utterly ridiculous angel." Aziraphale froze in surprise, feeling his coat bunched up under clenched fists. The demon was frantic, almost desperate. He slowly patted the taller demon's back, "...Yes...?"

Crowley's voice was disturbingly watery, "I thought you were dead after I saw the bookshop, why- why didn’t you call?"

"The bookshop? What’s wrong with my shop?" 

Crowley pulled back, "You don’t know?"

And now that Aziraphale had blinked the tears out of his own eyes, he could see the tear stains on Crowley's face and hear the crack in his hoarse voice, "Know what?"

"Oh, it um, it burnt down." He flapped the hand not holding the bottle and the edge of his coat in a tight grip, "I- I’m sorry I couldn’t save any of your books-“

Aziraphale knew immediately what Crowley had thought had happened, "Oh. Oh... it must’ve been the candles..." he bowed his head sheepishly, "I was in such a hurry to tell you I forgot about them." 

Crowley laughed hysterically, something frightening and half-amused there. His next words were unbelievably soft and infinitely fond, "Angel, you lit candles in a bookshop?"

Aziraphale's eyebrows furrowed, and yes, he was pouting, a slight whine to his protests, "I needed candles for the ritual Crowley, it wouldn’t work otherwise-!” 

Crowley looked ready to cry again as he nodded, "Oh, I missed you, angel." 

Aziraphale's eyes widened but Crowley continued, trying to change the subject, voice high as he very clearly tried to stay composed, "What was it you wanted to tell me?"

Aziraphale nodded, letting him get away with it- after all, he didn’t want the demon observing his own rumpled despairing state. He remembered his excitement earlier and summoned it up with great effort, "Oh yes... Yes! I know where the anti-christ is, dear, and just guess! Guess where he is!"

Crowley let his hand drop from the back of Aziraphale's coat to casually hang onto his sleeve. He asked indulgently, "Where?"

The angel didn’t move away, "Tadfield! Can you believe it?" 

Aziraphale grinned radiantly up at him, full of open, albeit watery, affection.

Crowley smiled back.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my tumblr here: https://ford-ye-fiji.tumblr.com/


End file.
